


That's enough but I'm still starving

by Snapdragonia



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Artist!TY, Breathplay, Cybersex, Face Slapping, Getting Together, I think that's the right au tag... everyone is d/s au, M/M, Pro D/s services, Side taekai!!, Slice of Life, Trapped In Elevator, jock!johnny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:29:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25043932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snapdragonia/pseuds/Snapdragonia
Summary: “What about you, Taeyong-hyung?” Mark’s chalking his cue between turns and looks towards Taeyong curiously. “Any luck finding someone um, you know, uh…. compatible?”Taeyong snorts at Mark’s discomfort. People without strong designations tended not to know quite how to ask. “If I had, you’d know, believe me.”-As a high-level sub living without the care of a dom, Taeyong's life is strictly structured. It's not fun, but he's coping. He's surviving on hacks and a little help from his friends, until he can find a dom willing to give him what he needs.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong, Lee Taeyong/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 39
Kudos: 456





	That's enough but I'm still starving

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: D/s dynamics, impact play, under-negotiated kink and dynamics, sub-drop, panic attacks, claustrophobia... a hint of blood :) 
> 
> Disaster sub Ty not having a dom in NCT kept bumming me out, i had to do something :/ I thought this was going to be 5k and nasty, but it came out massive, sweet AND nasty rip. Thank you to M for the meet-stress concept, S for being WITH ME IN THIS EVERY STEP OF THE WAY and K for the amazing beta and support! <333
> 
> That's enough but I'm still starving, babe. Wanna go up much higher, hey. - LTY, Long Flight

By the time Taeyong makes it onto the last leg of his commute home from work, it’s clear it’s going to be a rough night. It’d been a busy week, with a new set of designs moving into production. It meant spending more days in the screen printing studio seeing the things he dreams up come to life and less time sitting at his desk with his tablet. 

Printing always demands his entire focus, his entire capacity for grace and precision, to layer color after color onto the prints and shirts and bags he creates. It makes the day fly by, and Taeyong had startled badly when Yuta had tapped his shoulder to tell him it was time to clean up and go home. 

Outside the soothing, creative bubble of his work though, the reality of his life catches up to him fast. 

For some people, their designation is insignificant, nothing more than a preference or an inclination. Taeyong’s knees tremble as he folds himself up into a seat on the train, eyes sweeping around the car in an automatic survey. He doesn’t need to look, necessarily, to be able to get a sense of a person’s designation, but it helps. There are clues. The car is mostly full of those neutral or low-level enough that Taeyong’s gaze slides right over them. 

There are some like him though, and the presence of a dom snags at his consciousness, recognizing the power innately. Taeyong’s gaze settles on a woman sitting across from him like the plastic bench seat is a throne, knees wide and her sub standing close between them. Taeyong watches her hand curl possessively around the back of her sub’s knee, and tracks the shiver that runs straight up his spine. There’s a pretty soft collar at his throat. Taeyong looks away, his throat burning with envy.

The reality of Taeyong’s life is a system so rigid with rules it should be joyless. It has to be, because the alternative is slowly going insane. While most people’s lives aren’t dictated by their designations, every minute of his every day is carefully designed to mitigate the fact that he’s a level 10 submissive living on his own, without the care of a dominant. 

It’s like having a whole other basic need to attend to, one as demanding as the need for food or sleep, but nearly impossible to satisfy himself. He straightens up in his seat and pushes back the bitterness he feels about it, it’s a uselessly well worn circuit in his mind and nothing good will come of following it around and around. 

He spends the rest of the ride with his airpods pounding wordless bass-heavy beats into his skull while passing his paint-flecked wrists back and forth into the tight squeeze of his own fist. 

It used to be embarrassing, when he was younger and any act of public wanting or god forbid, _needing_ , felt shameful, like the worst kind of nakedness. He knows better now, or maybe just understands what it means to be such a high level sub and has decided to survive. He is and will always be, probably, in a state of needing. More than is cute or fun or socially acceptable, more than any dom he’s ever met has wanted to give him. Surviving means learning to cope, learning to meet his own needs however he could. There isn’t much room for shame in survival. 

\--

The apartment building Taeyong lives in ticked all his boxes when he was looking for his first place after graduating. It’s reasonably close to the train line, the brick building old enough to have plenty of character but not so old that it was constantly under repair. It also had the biggest balcony he’d seen in a studio apartment and was owned by a family that had welcomed Taeyong’s questions about safety measures and if ‘pet-friendly’ meant he would be allowed to keep his fish tank, and then welcomed him too. He’d moved in two years ago, and even coming off the street into the lobby now felt like home. 

One of the owners of the building, Taemin, was perched at the front office desk, smiling gently at Taeyong and waving him over. He was always kind to Taeyong-- sweetly doting in the way doms who have collared subs of their own often are with him. Sometimes it rubs him the wrong way, but with Taemin it’s always just felt safe, so-- a little jolt of happiness rushes through him at being requested. 

Taeyong’s sneakers catch under his feet as his body hurries to follow Taemin’s beckoning and he comes to a stop with his ribs pressed against the counter, blinking a few times to clear his head. “Hi, Taemin-hyung,” 

“Hi Taeyong,” Taemin chirps, his mouth pulled into a soft smile. “You have an oversized package, darling.” 

Taeyong pinches his bottom lip between his teeth and nods quickly, the draping chains of his earrings tinkling with the movement. He’d ordered a new vacuum cleaner but hadn’t expected it so soon. “Thank you hyung,” 

“Of course. Let me get Jonginnie to help you carry it up to your apartment, alright?” It’s phrased like a question but Taemin is already reaching for the walkie-talkie that matches the one his husband carries. 

Taeyong leans a bit harder against the counter, his cheeks flushing under Taemin’s attention. Taemin is a good person, a good dom, and sometimes these moments, these _crumbs_ are all he has to sustain himself for weeks. Still though, part of him resists it, because letting go for something so small, even when his bones are ringing to accept whatever little he is offered, does more harm than good. 

Taeyong swallows and forces himself to lift his chin and meet Taemin’s gaze. “That’s okay, you don’t have to bother him, hyung. I’m stronger than I look, I can carry it myself!” 

Taemin’s head tips to the side, his eyes flashing sharp and appraising, but he doesn’t push. “Alright, I’ll bring it around for you.” 

Taeyong thinks he probably is stronger than he looks, with his skinny limbs and delicate waist swallowed up by the coveralls he wears for printing, but that doesn’t mean wrestling the heavy box into the elevator and down the hall is easy. It leaves him a little sweaty by the time he drops it in front of his door. Doing it himself feels a bit like an accomplishment, sweet and rewarding in a different way than it would have been to let Taemin take care of him. 

As sweet as it is, it doesn't fill him up, it doesn't quiet the needy gnawing in his gut to be of service, to be used up and useful and in his submission. He pushes open the door and grunts, hefting up the vacuum one more time to waddle through the doorway.

His home is a riot of color and art and trinkets, every surface cluttered with the evidence of home, and yet under all that, spotlessly clean. Messy, homey, lived-in, but never dirty. Taeyong’s system makes sure of that. The walls are dotted at random with taped up photos and drawings, clippings and notes. What space is left is home to little terracotta potted houseplants and Taeyong wanders over to their shelf by the balcony door, shoving a finger in a few of the pots to check who needs watering.

There is a gentleness about coming home and unfolding himself in the nest of his space that never fails to soothe him to his core, even on rough days. There’s no need to be anyone but himself here, and Taeyong happily strips out of his coveralls, replacing stiff canvas with soft, loose knits that brush gently against his skin as he prepares. 

His hands tremble a little when he buckles his collar around his neck. It’s a stark contrast to the wooly fuzz of his cardigan; black leather, thick enough that it’ll probably never soften, and so wide that it pinches against his throat when he looks down. It’s good, except that it’s too big for him, fitting loosely even on the last notch. That doesn’t stop him cinching it until it’s tight though. The cool leather squeezes all the way around his neck and his body flushes to awareness, tingles racing down this spine as each nerve ending comes alive. It’s the best he’s felt all day and the urge to pull even harder prickles at his fingertips, but there are rules, and rules make up the system that keeps him sane and alive. So Taeyong releases the collar, backing up the buckle until it hangs loose and heavy around the base of his neck before closing it. 

It’s just a few minutes before six and Doyoung will call him on the hour, so Taeyong rushes to pour a glass of water from his little kitchenette and settle on the couch. Doyoung has been part of Taeyong’s life since his first year of art school. When they’d first met, the idea of relying on an online dom had made Taeyong feel like a freak, but Doyoung had helped him make it through school in one piece and had even become a close friend over the years. 

Taeyong distracts his fingers from scraping up the flecks of paint on his skin by pulling up the texts he had sent Doyoung that morning over breakfast and re-reading them. 

_good morning Doie! i got whole wheat bread for my toast. it’s not good but i’m eating it anyways, for you *angel emoji* for chores today i need to wash laundry. Also remember to order my ink so it gets here in time for the weekend but i can do that by myself. do you think you could try and drop me for a long time today?? i think i need it lmao_

_Don’t call me Doie when you text me about scenes. It's weird. And it’s important to eat a healthy breakfast, quit complaining._

_Also. Good morning, I’m pleased you got the bread, and that you’re eating it, that’s really good Yongie. I’m sure I can be convinced that you’ve earned something nice tonight, don’t worry. I’ve got you._

He grimaces, remembering the toast Doyoung had made him buy. It’s healthy! Fiber! It was disgusting, but even so, he ate it dutifully and even felt warmly about it regardless. He and Doyoung had tried most ways of fitting together, over the years. Strictly professionally, as friends, as partners, and back again to some unholy mashup of the three. It’s not perfect, what they have, but it _is_ miraculous, and probably the only reason Taeyong is out living his life and making his art. Doyoung is a powerful enough dom that even over their video-chat sessions, he can pull Taeyong into subspace when he really needs it. When they’d first met online for that purpose it’d been stiflingly formal and humiliating with how impersonal it’d felt over the phone. As it turned out though, Doyoung’s sadistic _and_ likes to dote on him, and Taeyong’s body doesn’t care about the distance when he’s desperate to be dropped and Doyoung is creative enough to get him there. 

Taeyong bypasses their usual chatbox filled with chatter and memes to pull up the room they use only for scenes and starts up his video. He wants to see himself, as Doyoung will. He runs a hair through his fluffy black hair, willing it into shape. His fuzzy cardigan is cut lower on his bare chest than he realized and his cheeks flush as he plucks at the deep V of it, shifting it up over his shoulders a touch only for it to slip back down. It’s only Doyoung, but he looks like he’s _trying_ , looks desperate in a way that makes his spine tingle with nerves and arousal. Fuck, it’s going to be easy today, he really does need to be put under. 

Taeyong sets his laptop onto the coffee table, and hauls in a deep breath. As much as he likes to tease and bicker with Doyoung in their friendship, this is wholly different. He focuses inward, prodding for that starved, needy well inside of himself that he spends so much time and energy pushing down. It engulfs him instantly, gentling away his grip on rationality and replacing it with the kind of sloppy-eager neediness that has him whining in his throat as he slips to his knees in front of his computer. Gets into position for Doyoung. This is always the hardest part, the waiting now that he’s stripped himself bare where it counts. 

“Taeyong, hello baby.” 

He whips his head up to see Doyoung filling his screen, settling into his chair and staring intently at Taeyong. He’s smiling, his pretty bow mouth pulled sharp, and Taeyong feels stupid for how the word _baby_ is bouncing around inside his skull like a rubber ball. 

“Hi Do-- oh, no. Hi, sir!” Taeyong’s words feel a little foreign in his own mouth, but he lets the feeling drift away as Doyoung chuckles fondly. 

“How are you feeling, Yongie. You look very cute today.” Doyoung’s smile softens a little. 

“Hmmmm.” Taeyong shifts on his knees, tries to consider. “I feel okay. I’m very cute today.”

Doyoung laughs, his smile gummy. “Oh, you were not joking about needing it, you’re halfway there all by yourself.” 

“Yeah, I need it,” Taeyong parrots again, smiling reflexively. 

“You really fucking do.” Doyoung tilts his head to the side and his mouth pulls back to sharp. “First things first though, I think you need to earn the fun stuff. Are you ready to be good for me, baby?” 

Taeyong’s breath catches in his throat and he nods, so fast he feels dizzy, his eyes wide and blurry. 

Time passes in a sweet, gentle haze for a while. Doyoung wants to see some of the marks on Taeyong’s skin from their last scene, when he’d talked Taeyong through hitting himself. His knees nearly buckle as he prods at the wide, shallow flogging bruise over his hip. Doyoung coos and compliments the pretty colors and how well Taeyong had done forming it under Doyoung’s instruction. He’s allowed to pet his hands over his stomach, over his ribs, even up to his sensitive nipples where his cardigan slips wide enough to show off how they’ve gone pink and stiff. He whines loudly, so Doyoung can hear how nice it feels to be given permission to touch, how grateful he is in his pleasure. 

Then comes the chores. It’s less exciting, but necessary and no less satisfying for Taeyong. He returns to his knees, this time on the hard tile of the kitchenette to hand-wash his laundry. It’s deeply meditative, Taeyong’s body falling easily into the familiar rhythm of it even if his hands are stupid clumsy with everything else. Doyoung is a quiet, steady presence while Taeyong works, he plays some music and sings along. Every now and again he checks in with Taeyong, asking to see the angry red of his knees, instructing him to change out his wash water, asking how he’s feeling.

Hanging each piece of cleaned clothing takes a long time, Taeyong’s hands useless and stupid with his head full of exactly, perfectly-- nothing. Doyoung is patient with him until the end, when he talks Taeyong through preparing a snack. After, he demands Taeyong show him his cute pink tongue, for no reason other than wanting to see it. Taeyong smiles and hooks his fingers into the corners of his lips, pulling his mouth as wide as it’ll go for Doyoung to see, delighted and hazy. He doesn't need a reason to obey Doyoung’s every whim, it spills out of him naturally, beautifully, without even a single thought like this. 

“Alright, go get a cup and fill it with ice cubes, Yong. I want you back on your knees.” 

Taeyong’s too clumsy, too gone, to sink gracefully back to his knees and balance the cup of ice, so they crack hard against the tile as he collapses down, breaking his fall. The shock of it forces a whimper from him and he squeezes his eyes shut tight, feeling the sharp throb of pain radiate through him. It sets him trembling, suddenly so aware of his whole entire body in a way he’s been shielded from before now-- the weight of his collar at the base of his throat, the tickle of his fuzzy sweater against his stomach, the unforgiving cold tile under his bruised-hot knees. It’s overwhelming. It feels like he’s finally coming alive. 

He’s too gone to hear Doyoung’s breath hitch, but there’s no hiding the edge in his voice. “Oh you liked that, didn’t you?” 

Taeyong’s mouth is too slack for words so he just moans, rolling more of his weight onto his abused knees to feel the way they flare and tingle, sending shivers tearing up his spine and heat pooling low in his gut. 

“What a little painslut, look at you, you can’t get enough.” Doyoung laughs and it’s loud, biting. “Pathetic little painslut Yongie. I only told you to get on your knees, but you’re probably hard already, aren’t you.”

Doyoung’s voice is sharp, but just shy of truly cutting, a softness around each harsh word. It used to frustrate Taeyong to tears, that without Doyoung really _there,_ they couldn’t go as hard as he wanted-- as hard as he could take it.

“No, you can’t help being such a slut, can you?” It’s just barely enough to send a tendril of hot humiliation twisting down into his guts. He blushes, stills, tries to pull in a deep breath when he realizes his mouth is dropped open in little panting breaths. 

“Can’t help it sir, m’sorry.” Taeyong hangs his head low and bites back another whine when his weight shifts and he wobbles on his bruised knees. He can’t stop the way his dick twitches in his sweatpants, obvious and damning-- proof that he is what Doyoung says he is. A _slut._

“If you’re really sorry, you can prove it then.” 

Taeyong’s heart trips with excitement because that sounds like a promise of something more, something he _needs._ He whips his gaze up to his laptop, searching out Doyoung’s eyes on pure instinct but-- It’s so hard to see through the screen, and all that distance, the inescapable fact of it, lodges tight in Taeyong’s throat. 

Fuck but he wants to be _touched_. 

The thought rips through him too fast to even attempt to derail and leaves him hollowed out, suddenly hyper-aware of himself, and clinging desperately to the comfortable haze of subspace even as it starts to dissipate around him. Fuck. _Fuck._

Taeyong wraps both arms around himself and squeezes, so tight it strains his shoulders and blinks back frustrated tears, forcing himself to look back to Doyoung again. “Doie... I’m sorry.“ 

“Oh,” Doyoung’s face crumples in, distraught. “Oh Yongie, oh no.”

“Please.” It’s worse, it’s so much worse hearing that gentleness, that pity, when this happens. He wants to scream. He wants to crawl into the deepest darkest corner of his apartment, as far away from this feeling as he can possibly get. “Please, don’t. I’m so sorry.” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, so stop apologizing and look at me. Now.” Doyoung’s voice snaps whiplike, sudden and loud through the speakers. It startles Taeyong into stillness, eyes wide and wet as he shuffles on his knees closer to his computer.

This just happens, sometimes. Taeyong gets rocked and with no one there to settle him, has to pull up for air. It’s expected, his needs were never meant to be fulfilled by someone on the other end of a computer screen. Dealing with this is just another part of what it means to be surviving. 

Sometimes, when he’s very lucky, he can trick himself into staying down for long enough that coming back to himself is just as easy as letting go. More often, it’s like being yanked from a warm bath and dunked into cold reality. 

Taeyong pulls in a shuddering breath blinking a few times to dispel the embarrassment. 

He _knows_ it’s okay, but in his guts he feels like a failure. When he finally meets Doyoung’s eyes through the screen, Doyoung smiles at him-- big and bright like he’s amazing, and the way Taeyong’s chest loosens up at the approval is beyond automatic. He pulls in another deep breath and it’s a little easier, a little steader, enough that he can manage a small, rueful smile back. 

-

“Did Mark say when he wanted to meet?” Taeyong calls over his shoulder towards where he can hear Yuta organizing and putting away the day's printing screens. It’s Friday, almost time to clock out, and they’re busy cleaning and closing up the studio for the weekend. 

“You’re meeting Mark?” Yuta bounces up next to him, suddenly eager. There’s still a screen clutched in his hands and Taeyong bites back the urge to coo.

“Yeah, did he not text you too?” Taeyong turns back to the froth of pink in the sink where he’s washing up his tools so he can feign casualness. “I just assumed since he invited me to come out for drinks after work, he’d invite you too,” 

“No! He hasn’t texted me since yesterday night about a possible UFO sighting.” Yuta huffs, annoyed but wistful all the same. “He’s forgotten all about me.”

Taeyong rinses his hands and dries them off, turning to see Yuta’s glower in full force. As much as he relished any opportunity to tease Yuta about his crush on their mutual friend, in the end Taeyong couldn’t help putting him out of his misery. 

“Well how about I invite you, and you can remind Mark of your very fun and lovable existence tonight?” 

Yuta yelps gleefully, his face cracking into a big grin. He tangles an arm around Taeyong’s neck, squeezing him in around the wood-frame screen he’s still hanging on to. “You’re my favorite Taeyong, you’re my best friend, seriously I love you!” 

Taeyong laughs, pushing Yuta back towards his work. “Yeah yeah, tell it to Mark!” 

Mark chose to meet them at an unassuming neighborhood hole-in-the-wall with sports on the TVs and a couple well-loved pool tables. Still, Yuta spends most of the walk from the station fussing with his paint-splattered coveralls: rolling the sleeves up and then back down, testing how far he can unzip it to expose his band tee turned muscle tank underneath. Taeyong had packed a clean hoodie to pull over top, and tied the arms of his coveralls around his waist for comfort.

It’s sweet, really. Taeyong loves them both and wants them to be happy, and the way Yuta had deflated with relief when Taeyong had first approached him about his crush had filled him with pride. He loved that Yuta, who held himself at a distance where it counted, trusted him with this. 

“You look great, Yuta,” Taeyong finally intervenes, grabbing his elbow and linking their arms. “Hipsters everywhere would murder for that coverall, just go with it.” 

That seems to do the trick, as Yuta stops fussing and starts ranting about the value of authenticity in fashion, and the only thing that can pull him out of that particular spiral-- is Mark Lee. 

Taeyong pushes open the door to the bar and ushers them in. It’s easy to spot Mark, he’s sitting in an empty booth but spilling out of it towards the pool table nearby, chatting to the people playing with an ease that’s always made Taeyong a little jealous. He spots them and waves, laughing when Yuta barrels into him for a hug. 

“Hey man, glad you could make it!” 

Taeyong waits his turn before swooping down for his own hug. “Hi Markie, hope you don’t mind I invited your number one fan.” 

Mark laughs like it’s only natural, and reaches out to touch Yuta’s shoulder. “Of course, I’m glad you did!” 

Yuta preens under the attention and Taeyong marvels not for the first time, that of the two of them, it’s Yuta who is a dom. Mark is just Mark, but there’s no denying the way they can fit together so sweetly. 

Mark’s ordered them a pitcher of beer already and they pile into the booth to catch up and drink, waiting for the pool table to open up. It’d been a rocky few days since his last scene with Doyoung, the shock of being pulled out of subspace like that leaving him shaky and sensitive, but this-- It’s so easy, talking and laughing with his friends. Taeyong is swept through by a wave of gratitude so strong it has him blinking back tears. He needed this, right down to his bones, he needed it.

By the time they shuffle out of the booth for their turn at the table, Taeyong is wobbly on his feet, giggly and flushed. He’s always been a lightweight, but it’s Friday and he feels good for once, so he allows himself the luxury of sinking into his tipsiness. Besides, he reckons, it’ll make Yuta happy to beat him so spectacularly in front of Mark. 

“What about you, Taeyong-hyung?” Mark’s chalking his cue between turns and looks towards Taeyong curiously. Taeyong scrambles to reel back in the last few minutes of conversation he’d been tuning out, sipping his drink and allowing his mind to wander. Mark has a friend who’d just given their first collar. Ah. “Any luck finding someone um, you know, uh…. uh, compatible?” 

Taeyong snorts at Mark’s discomfort. People without strong designations tended not to know quite how to ask. “If I had, you’d know, believe me.” 

Yuta laughs, taking his shot and straightening back up with his cue held proudly out. “Yeah, I want to see what you’re like without that stick up your ass too, Taeyongie.” 

“Hyunngggg,” Mark gasps, scandalized and smacking at Yuta’s shoulder. “Shut up.” 

Taeyong giggles, his cheeks and ears warm from the alcohol and the attention, even if something at the back of his mind twinges that it’ll bother him later, outside this easy moment. 

Surprising no one, Mark beats the both of them soundly, grinning brightly but--contained, with none of the wild whooping that Yuta had thrown around when he’d beaten Taeyong. It makes Taeyong want to poke and prod until he lets his pride in winning shine through, but-- Yuta’s pulled him into a headlock and Mark is shining in a different way all together now, so Taeyong wanders to the bar to get them another round. 

The bartender is busy when Taeyong steps around a stool to lean his ribs against the solid wood of the bar. It feels good, grounding, so he tips himself forward until the bartender sees him and nods his acknowledgment. He’s a dom. Taeyong feels the knowledge of it tingle down his spine and knows he must be a strong one, too. 

Taeyong watches the man work, the surety of his hands as he mixes drinks, and the way he aims a small, curled smile across the bar when he slides each drink across. Tipsy and happy, his guard thoroughly down, Taeyong allows himself to daydream. 

It’s easy to imagine what he’d want, the images burst bright to the forefront of his mind as if already carefully formed. Those strong, sure hands around his neck, that curled mouth at his ear. Taeyong shivers hard, shaking his head to dislodge the thought but it’s sticky in his alcohol-slow mind and as if to spite him, flashes forward like stop motion. The bartender’s hand squeezing tight around his throat. Leaving small bruises ringed around his neck. That mouth parting against his chest and biting down hard.

“What can I get for you?” 

Taeyong startles so hard his knees crack against the bar, and his eyes water, wide, as he comes back to himself in a horrifyingly slow wave. Up close the bartender is pretty, eyes tipped up but startlingly dark-- dark in a way that sets the back of Taeyong’s neck prickling. He knows he’s acting inappropriately, that he needs to get it together, but he can’t help the way his body is reacting. He can’t help not being _normal._

“Can I get a drink started for you?” The bartender asks again, a little louder.

Taeyong’s mouth drops open but nothing comes out and he feels a distant kind of humiliation as his knees wobble, threatening to give out. He’s watching, eyes glued to the man, so he sees the way his brows lift abruptly with understanding, how he scans the room before looking back to Taeyong and meeting his gaze firmly. 

“How about this-- I’ll bring another pitcher of the IPA your friend likes over to your table, if you head back over there now.” It’s gently spoken, but there’s a firmness under the words that’s impossible for Taeyong to ignore. “Sound good?” 

Taeyong clamps his mouth shut and nods, his chest full to bursting with a confusing mix of relief and mortification. 

Taeyong collapses into the booth, groaning and immediately pillowing his head on his folded arms. “Why am I the worst?” He snorts derisively. “wait. Don’t answer that, I know why.” 

“What happened, Yong? Are you okay?” Yuta asks, his tone suddenly more serious than Taeyong’s heard it in months. He doesn’t want to worry them. 

“I’m fine, just” --he lifts his heavy head and waves a hand in front of his chest-- “me being me.” 

Mark’s frowning, his brows pulled together tight, but he doesn’t say anything- just rests his hand warm on Taeyong’s back. Taeyong sighs and presses into it, and Mark takes it as the encouragement it is to rub his back in wide circles. 

“If I need to beat someone’s ass, you better tell me or I’ll hold it against you forever,” Yuta threatens, and as if summoned, the bartender steps up to their table, sliding the promised pitcher of beer into the center and replacing their glasses with fresh ones. 

“Cheers, let me know if you guys need anything.”

“Thanks,” Mark chirps, and the man smiles mildly and returns to the bar. 

Taeyong’s cheeks burn so hot they feel stiff and numb on his face. 

“Do I need to beat that bartender's ass?” Yuta says after a long pause, looking between the beer that Taeyong would have never ordered, and his flaming face. 

“No,” Taeyong groans, “No you really don’t need to do anything. I just embarrassed myself, that’s all. It’s not a big deal.”

Yuta squints at him like he’s suspicious, so Taeyong levels him with his most sardonic smile. “Thanks for offering to defend my honor but really, let’s drop it.” He straightens up, shrugging gently out of Mark’s touch and reaches to pour their beer. “Are you guys gonna play another round, or have you given up already?” 

-

It’s Sunday afternoon and Taeyong has two armfuls of grocery bags, returning from a day of running errands around the city. It’d been nice to get out, to join the bustle of humanity around him and check things off his list. With his hands full, he turns his back to his apartment building’s front door and bumps it open, shuffling backward inside. He has everything he needs to make pajeon and spicy pork soup and the heavy bags knock against his knees as he waddles over to the elevators. 

The ‘out of service’ sign is finally gone and Taeyong sags with relief. The prospect of hauling his groceries up the stairwell was enough to make him consider seeking out Taemin for help. It’d taken Jongin nearly two weeks to fix whatever was wrong with the control panel, but it seems he’d done it in the end. 

As Taeyong nears the elevator, the open doors start to close and he lurches forward. The thing took forever to make a trip up and back down and he was not in the mood to wait. 

“Hold the door, please!” He calls ahead, and sighs in relief when a hand pokes out, stopping the door from closing. 

“Thank you so much, I--” Taeyong falters at the doorway, taking in the person holding the elevator open for him. 

He’s alarmingly handsome, and vaguely familiar, like maybe Taeyong has seen him come and go. That’s not what stops him short, though; the man is huge, tall and broad chested and taking up most of the gap between the sliding doors with how he’s holding it open for Taeyong. He’s clearly just come from the gym, his shirt marked in a deep v of sweat and dark hair pushed up off his forehead. The concept of stepping closer, into his _space_ , makes Taeyong’s heart trip and race in his chest.

He’s smiling patiently at Taeyong though, even as the elevator starts to chime in protest, the door nudging against his bare arm.

“What are you waiting for, permission? Come in.” 

It’s a joke, it’s not even a very original joke, but the casual command in his voice washes over Taeyong like a physical weight. His scalp prickles and he shivers hard, unthinking as his eyes track down the man’s wide chest to his legs and back up again. It settles in his bones with certainty: this man is a dom, stronger than most, maybe stronger than any Taeyong has met before. 

“S-sorry,” Taeyong manages. It feels like a honey trap, like there’s no way he’s making it out of those doors again in one piece, with his dignity. He holds his breath and pushes inside.

Inside, there’s nowhere to look but at this stupid-gorgeous man. His features are striking, but soft on his face, his mouth plush and curved, his eyes amber warm and curious as he looks back, asks “What floor?”

There’s sweat shining on his skin, his neck, and Taeyong feels a whine building at the base of his throat and tries to clear it. “Ahm-- um, four, please.” The door to the elevator slides closed.

Taeyong watches in fascination as he rucks up the front of his shirt, searching out the dry hem to catch the beads of sweat threatening to slip down his cheek. It should be disgusting, but even as Taeyong’s fingers itch for a bottle of spray cleaner, heat curls low in his belly too. 

It’s confusing and he’s _staring,_ but not even the lazy, pleased way the man is watching him do it can make Taeyong jerk his attention away.

“I’m glad Jongin-hyung fixed this thing,” he muses suddenly, like Taeyong couldn’t possibly be doing anything besides waiting for him to speak. “Leg day, you know.” 

Taeyong does _not_ know, but his eyes do slide down to the man’s thighs like maybe the answer lies somewhere in the gorgeous cut of his quad visible even through his track pants. “Ha ah, yeah, me too.” Taeyong strains to lift the bags in his hands in demonstration and they rattle by his knees. 

“Yeah I bet. I’m Johnny, by the way.” He grins widely, showing off the gleam of his teeth as Taeyong lets the name roll around in his mind but comes up blank. “I think the hyungs have mentioned you, are you Lee Taeyong?” 

“Oh.” Taeyong jerks a little in surprise, hearing his name from Johnny’s mouth. “Yeah, why?”

Johnny laughs and it’s airy, cutely contrasting to his sheer mass, and gestures to Taeyong’s legs. Taeyong follows his line of sight dumbly. He’s wearing an old pair of white jeans that got too threadbare and ripped up to wear to work. There are splatters and drips of paint everywhere, each hip messy where he’s wiped his fingers so many times. Taeyong swallows thickly and looks back up to meet Johnny’s eyes, confused and alarmed. 

“Oh, Taemin-hyung’s mentioned you to me before, is all.” His grin turns sharp and Taeyong’s stomach flips wildly. Johnny holds a finger up and taps it. “Lee Taeyong. Lives in the building” --he puts another finger up-- “does artsy painting for work.” Another finger pops up but he pauses, grinning again. “And-- You know, a really gorgeous sub that I should watch out for or else he’ll have my balls.” 

Johnny shrugs, chuckling airly, and Taeyong feels his cheeks burn hot. _Gorgeous..._ “Well, uh- it’s nice to meet you, Johnny.” Taeyong dips his head in a little bow and feels the back of his neck prickle, bared to this strangely talkative, unnervingly powerful dom. 

It’s not surprising, exactly, that Taemin would ask someone he trusted to look out for Taeyong, but Taeyong’s never been confronted by it quite like this. He’s not sure how to interpret the way his whole body goes hot and tingly at the knowledge of it.

“You too, hey--” Johnny jerks his chin towards Taeyong’s groceries, and the soft peach of his mouth open and earnest. “This thing really is slow, you should put those down, I’ll help you carry them if you need.” 

As if on a terrible cue, the elevator’s rumbling crawl is shattered by a metallic screech, the momentum lurching in a horrifying bounce that shakes the whole car. The floor tilts and jumps under Taeyong’s feet and he screams, high and startled from his throat, his bags of groceries spilling to the floor as he flings out both arms to steady himself from falling. 

“Woah, what the fuck,” Johnny shouts, his voice loud and cracked, and Taeyong whips around towards the sound, searching for anything that might make _sense_ , as the floor bucks and shakes itself to a standstill. 

“Are you okay?” Johnny asks, his face blown open with shock. 

No, no he’s not okay. Taeyong’s shaking where he stands, the pulse of adrenaline tearing through him making his eyes skip around in overexposed still frames. Scallions spilled out onto the floor of the elevator. The innocent little ‘emergency call’ button flashing red. Johnny’s brows sharply pinched, his hand extended cautiously. Like Taeyong is a spooked, cornered animal. 

The thought pushes a choked, miserable little whine from his throat. The elevator has stopped moving. It’s stuck. He’s trapped inside with this stranger, this dom, whose presence is filling the small space to bursting, making it even harder to breathe. He swallows hard against the push of panic gathering in his chest but it’s overwhelming, consuming, closing his throat until he gasps. 

“Hey, hey can you answer me?” Johnny calls gently and dom or not, it’s _nothing_ against the full-fledged panic attack Taeyong knows he’s slipping into. “Are you okay?

He wraps his arms around himself and tries to focus, tries not to choke on the tiny hitched gasps of air he’s managing. That’s all that matters. Surviving this, just like he survives everything else. 

In the edges of his vision there’s movement, that gentle coaxing voice, and when Taeyong’s knees start to buckle and give out he reaches for the nearest wall, searching blindly for the bannister to hold himself up.

It’s cold, a shock against his skin that draws his attention clearly for a moment and then-- through the static cuts a command. Not a request, but the kind of command that slams into the bottom of Taeyong’s chest and hangs heavy, no room for anything but obedience. 

“ _Taeyong. Look at me._ ” 

Oh-- Johnny’s eyes are focused unerringly on Taeyong, warm and heavy and when he meets them, he’s caught. 

“Good. That’s perfect, Taeyong.” Johnny’s voice shifts quiet and low but this time it sticks, rings clear in Taeyong’s head. “That’s so good, you’re alright.” He shifts closer, moves fully into Taeyong’s tunnel vision and smiles like the world isn’t ending. Like Taeyong’s not dying. Smiles like he really trusts Taeyong can pull himself out of this spiral, and Taeyong suddenly-- can breathe. 

He gasps in a huge breath, the rush of oxygen hitting him hard, his head spinning.

“There you go.” And fuck if Johnny doesn’t sound _proud_ of him. “Take another deep breath for me.” 

Taeyong’s diaphragm hitches in his rush to do so and Johnny chuckles. “Easy, slowly.” 

A few breaths later and Taeyong pulls his gaze away from Johnny, blinking and taking stock. He’s still trembling faintly, but his fingers listen to him when he tells them to unclamp from where they’re digging into his skin. He’s never _ever_ pulled himself up from a panic attack so quickly, so smoothly. He looks back to Johnny with wide eyes. “Hi.” 

Taeyong watches something tense around Johnny’s eyes relax. “Hey, you spooked me for a second there.” 

“Sorry,” Taeyong croaks, wincing at his dry scratchy throat. 

“Don’t be,” Johnny replies quickly, serious. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

From the control panel, there’s a sudden beeping that sends Taeyong’s heart jackrabbiting in his chest again. Johnny’s already turned to answer it when he stills, pivots back around, searching out Taeyong’s eyes, the question unspoken. Taeyong nods and Johnny spins back towards the panel. 

Taeyong tunes out the conversation Johnny’s having. It somehow doesn’t feel important anymore. He’s thirsty, shaken and raw but also-- steady, in a way he hasn’t felt in years. There’s something about falling apart and making it back again that makes him feel invincible. Surviving is blissfully simple right now. There’s a bottle of iced tea somewhere in his groceries and the instant he remembers, he drops gracelessly to a crouch and starts rifling through the spilled bags. 

By the time Johnny hangs up and turns back around, Taeyong has settled himself against the elevator wall and is munching through orange segments, sipping his tea. 

Johnny snorts with laughter. “You look cozy,” he groans as he folds his long legs under him and comes to sit next to Taeyong. “Did you catch any of that?” 

“Nope,” Taeyong mutters, offering Johnny an orange segment, all his focus fixed on aiming the fruit towards Johnny’s pretty, plush mouth. 

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” Johnny smiles and reaches a hand up to intercept, catching Taeyong’s wrist gently between a few fingers. “You’re in too good a mood for that timeline.” 

Taeyong frowns and tries to push his hand forward again, wanting to feed Johnny the orange more than he cares to decipher his words, but that only makes Johnny tighten his grip, shifting to wrap his hand all the way around his wrist and that-- that gets his attention. Taeyong’s mouth pops open, breathy, and he shudders hard enough that his wrist jerks in Johnny’s grip.

“Taeyong, Taeyong.” Johnny says his name softly, cajolingly, and Taeyong smiles, liking the sound of it. “We’re going to be in here for a while. We should talk about this.” 

“Talk about what?”

“About this.” Johnny’s mouth quirks to the side and he flexes his hand around Taeyong’s wrist, each finger closing tight and then he yanks Taeyong forward so easily it has him keening, high and loud and damning between them. “About you.” 

Taeyong sucks in a breath, his heart squeezed tight in his chest as he comes down from the pulse of arousal flaring through him. He can’t remember ever feeling so unguarded, so honestly in his own skin, outside of subspace. He’s not sure where he is now, but with everything spooled out between them, he _wants_ , and for once in his life it feels simple. 

“I want to keep going.”

Johnny’s hand spasms around his wrist, crushing for a split second, and Taeyong watches the effect of his words play out over Johnny’s face, the way it clouds him over as he thinks. The way it clears, suddenly blazing like mid-summer sun when Johnny returns his gaze. “Are you sure you want that?” Johnny asks, voice low, and it’s hopeful enough that it unsticks Taeyong’s tongue. 

“I want it, I want you to drop me, for real,” he says in a rush, pushed out on a huge breath. “I’ve never… it’s never felt like this before. I--” Taeyong’s throat pinches closed as he recalls the alternative, the way surviving without _this feeling_ suddenly doesn’t seem like living at all. “I need this, I think. If- if you want me, too?” 

“Are you kidding?” Johnny’s brows pull up and it bursts from him, immediate and honest. “Yes, I want you.”

Taeyong’s whole body locks rigid with a wave of tingles, his vision going fuzzy for a moment as it overtakes him. “Oh.” Johnny _wants him._ “Please.” 

Taeyong’s fingers tremble where he’s still holding the orange segment, just close enough for Johnny to lean forward and take it in his mouth like an answer. His lips wrap delicately around the fruit before he bites, juice dripping slowly down Taeyong’s thumb. Johnny hums and uses his grip on Taeyong’s wrist to drag him even closer, twisting his arm to angle his hand and bring it close enough that Taeyong thinks he’s going in for the second bite but-- instead he licks, catching the slow-drip of juice with the flat of his tongue. 

Taeyong whines, unashamed, and watches Johnny’s pretty mouth split into a sharp grin. “Oh, come here.” Johnny spreads his legs wide and tugs Taeyong’s wrist again, and Taeyong scrambles to get his knees under him, following the pull on his wrist until he’s settled snug between Johnny’s thighs, perched on his knees.

“That’s good, Taeyong,” Johnny purrs, low and smooth and so _close_ now that Taeyong can even smell him-- warm and sweat-salty, appealing in a way that needles down to his core and makes him itch to get even closer. “If we’re going to do this right now, you’re going to have to keep talking to me.” 

He’s sprawled loose-limbed against the elevator wall, but there’s something undeniable in his voice. Not to be tested. Taeyong nods quickly, dipping his chin towards his chest and spreading his knees until they nudge against Johnny’s thighs, dropping into a proper position. 

“No-- You aren’t listening, you’re just reacting,” Johnny says, a little humor in his voice, even as he twists Taeyong’s arm _hard_ between them, as far as it’ll go before it locks against his shoulder and burns _._

Taeyong shouts, halfway to a moan and pitches forward against the twist. His mouth drops open to correct himself-- but the anticipation, the way Johnny touches him, hurts him just right, has his brain dissolving into a soft haze and all that comes out is, “M’sorry, sorry, Johnny, please.” 

“That’s better, sweetheart,” Johnny coos, tipping his chin back up to meet his gaze. “I know it’s hard, but this is your only rule now, alright? I want your full attention on me, and I want you to answer me.” 

Taeyong’s eyelids flutter, threatening to close as Johnny’s fingers glide up to his jaw and his face is cradled in Johnny’s warm, calloused palm. “Okay, I can do that-- yes, Johnny,” Taeyong whispers.

“Good, that’s what I’m talking about. I want as many words as you can manage, okay?” 

Taeyong giggles, a little unhinged by the idea that someone-- anyone-- _Johnny_ , could want all of anything he could give. “You can have them, I’ll talk, I’ll talk a lot.” 

“Perfect,” Johnny laughs, his eyes crinkled warmly, as he brings his other hand up to cup Taeyong’s face too. “You are such a pretty boy,” he sighs. 

Taeyong sags, caught in Johnny’s hands, his cheeks flushing hot under the touch, the approval, the praise. It swirls heavy and tense in his gut. Everything is spooled out between them, yes, but pulling tighter each second, threatening to snap into place.

“Oh you like that.” Johnny chuckles, low and rumbling. “You like hearing what a perfect, pretty boy face you have?” Johnny soothes a thumb over his cheekbone, coaxing. 

Taeyong’s spine feels like hot wax but he straightens up and pushes his lower back into a deep, pretty curve. “Yes please, I like it, Johnny, it’s for you.” 

“This is for me?” Johnny muses, one hand dropping away and the other sliding down to Taeyong’s chin. He jerks Taeyong’s chin down hard, his fingers digging into the soft spot just above his jaw bone and hums, low and lilting in a way that catches in Taeyong’s gut and tugs. “Open your mouth.” 

He doesn’t have to think about it, just lets his body follow the casual command in Johnny’s voice, his tongue pressed sweetly into the inside of his lip, knowing it’ll curve his mouth into something pouty and inviting for Johnny. For a long moment there’s nothing, and Taeyong fidgets on his knees until it’s too much and he peeks, looking through his lashes. 

Johnny’s face is just as open and relaxed as his body, eyes fixed on him but he’s far away, unseeing and distant and Taeyong _hates it._ He squirms impatiently and when that knocks the knuckle of Johnny’s pointer finger against his open mouth he pushes his tongue out to swipe at the skin greedily, whining.

“Hey, no one said you can use your mouth like that,” Johnny says, pinching Taeyong’s jaw hard enough that it aches against his teeth. It has his head spinning recklessly and when Johnny shifts his thumb up to catch his bottom lip, drag it down, Taeyong flicks his tongue out again- bratty and needy and, finally, the tension coiling between them snaps bowstring tight. 

Johnny stills for a split second before he draws his hand back and-- _crack_ , slaps his palm across Taeyong’s cheek. It’s enough to snap his head to the side, stunningly loud and stinging and Taeyong screams in a long gasp of air as his whole body sparks and shudders to a brand new kind of awareness, then sags boneless. “Oh, oh, oh, please!” 

“Ah, fuck!” Johnny exhales harshly, frustration rippling off him as he finally sits up from his lazy sprawl and fixes his attention hard on Taeyong. “Does that feel good to you?” 

Taeyong’s head swims heavily and he rolls it back to center, smiling and then gasping when his lip throbs fiercely where Johnny’s hand had caught it. He reaches up to probe with his fingertips but Johnny catches his wrist and it’s not gentle this time. 

“Yes or no, Taeyong, I need to hear how you feel about it.” 

“ _Yes,”_ Taeyong moans thickly, tucking his stinging lip between his teeth and biting at the tender skin, chasing the tiny tang of copper there. “Love it, love it, want more.” 

“Jesus fuck this is a bad idea,” Johnny exhales harshly, even as one hand clamps crushing around Taeyong’s wrist, the other returning to his chin and dragging his abused lip free. “What are you, baby, a level 10?”

It’s pitched like a joke but Taeyong’s too lost to really follow, just knowing he’d do anything to get more of that feeling, that shocking rush of pleasure-pain filling him up. “Yes, yesss, please Johnny.” 

There’s a long pause and Taeyong wants to peek again but when Johnny does speak, oh-- it’s obvious now. “Taeyong, turn around and sit down-- here.”

Johnny had been holding back. He had been checking himself in that same way Taeyong was so familiar with but he’s not anymore. No, that whipcrack of command Taeyong got just a taste of earlier is seeped into every word, sending sparks up his spine. He scrambles to obey, his lazy, greedy search for pleasure drained straight out of him. All that matters is what Johnny wants. _Oh_. 

“There, that’s good,” Johnny purrs, his breath tickling Taeyong’s studded ear as his hands find the crease of his hips and haul him in closer. They’re pressed tightly together, Johnny’s chest against his back and Taeyong can feel it when he breathes, when he stars speaking low and steady. “I bet you thought you could get away with anything, you’ve never had a dom to match you, have you.” 

Taeyong’s shaking where he sits, eyes wide and unseeing as Johnny’s words wash over him, the pieces slotting slowly into place in his foggy head. “I haven’t, never, Johnny, please.” 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart, you don’t have to worry about anything except me, alright?” Johnny’s touch is gentle as he arranges Taeyong’s limbs, straightens his legs and places each hand flat on his thigh. He smooths his wide palms up Taeyong’s arms, pushing his tee shirt until it’s bunched at his shoulders. “I’m gonna take care of you now.” 

Taeyong whimpers, watches Johnny’s hands drag back to his wrists then he bites his nails in hard and rakes them back up, four stringing red stripes all the way up to each shoulder. Taeyong keens loudly, his head dropping back until it meets Johnny’s shoulder. 

“Pretty,” Johnny muses, continuing to pet his hands over Taeyong’s skin. “What are we gonna do with you?” 

“Anything, anything you want, anything,” Taeyong mumbles, his eyes slipping closed as he tucks closer to Johnny’s neck, breathing in deep the smell of him. 

Johnny teases his fingertips down, skating around the rips in Taeyong’s white jeans to tease at his skin. His hands are big, and he snaps a few threads as he forces his fingers in far enough to pet tenderly at the back of Taeyong’s knee where his skin is thin and sensitive. “Anything I want?” 

Taeyong nods blearily, flexing his thighs down tight and shuddering. He’s been hard for what feels like hours, but it somehow doesn’t feel important until Johnny trails his fingertips up his thighs, then light and teasing over his fly. Taeyong’s legs kick straight at the sensation right over the drooly tip of his cock and Johnny laughs, trails his fingers back down and spreads them wide over his balls and then digs his nails in again, scraping harshly on the denim-- dragging up and over his balls and his cock. 

Taeyong screams, panting and harsh through his teeth as he shakes with the shock of it, the way his jeans, pulled tight and scratched, seem to vibrate against his whole package. The sharp pressure of Johnny’s nails blunted through the denim just enough to be bearable. 

“Anything I want and you’re gonna be good for me, that right?” 

“Yes, yes please,” Taeyong babbles, twisting closer to Johnny’s warm, broad chest and away from the teasing pressure he’s tracing up and down Taeyong’s shaft again in an effort to keep his hips from grinding up into the touch. 

Johnny snorts and reaches up to grab Taeyong’s chin, twisting him around until Taeyong can see his eyes. “Come on, I want you to show me how much you like it.” Before Taeyong can process the words Johnny’s flicking open his jeans and pushing them down enough to rub his whole palm across Taeyong’s hard cock. 

It’s too much, too fast, electric-sharp pleasure and Taeyong sobs, writhes until he gets his feet under him and can work his hips up in a rocking little grind against Johnny’s hand. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Johnny coos, adjusting his strokes to match the hitching rhythm Taeyong is rubbing out between them. 

It’s easy, so easy to get lost in the chase of it for a moment, moaning and panting when Johnny finally lets his cock bounce up, free of his underwear and he dips his fingertips into the gooey well of precome gathered at the tip-- enough so that it’s a shock when Johnny’s other hand slides up to his throat, heavy and promising. “Oh, please please,” 

“You wanna come, or you want me to choke you out?” Johnny muses aloud, his voice quiet like Taeyong’s answer doesn’t _really_ matter. 

Taeyong just moans, his legs slipping flat again and his back snapping into a pretty bow. He wants everything. Anything. Whatever Johnny wants. And, oh-- curved like this his ass is hitched up enough to feel where Johnny’s hard and straining in his track pants, the hot line of his cock seared against Taeyong’s low back. 

For a moment, everything is white-- Taeyong’s whole body shudders hard like he’s coming but he’s not, he’s pushing his hips _back,_ grinding against Johnny’s cock as his mouth waters thickly, spit pooling around his tongue and threatening to spill over onto Johnny’s shoulder. He did that. He made Johnny _that hard_. “Please-!”

“Jesus,” Johnny breathes out, turning to pant into Taeyong’s neck as he flexes his hips forward, and he’s so big he pushes Taeyong away with the force of it. His sneakers catch and squeak as he scrambles back close and this time Johnny clamps his arm tight around Taeyong’s waist, holding him up, holding him right where Johnny wants him as he grinds his cock hard into the pretty little swell of Taeyong’s ass. 

Johnny moans loud and low against Taeyong’s nape and he feels frantic, strung out and desperate to be good and useful and used up for Johnny’s pleasure. He doesn’t care how but he needs Johnny to come like he needs air to breathe and he says so, pants and moans it out as Johnny continues to tremble and grind against him. 

“Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna use you, your pretty--” he groans and Taeyong’s head spins, feeling Johnny’s cock twitch where he’s trying to bury it between Taeyong’s cheeks despite the layers between them. “--pretty mouth. I’m gonna let you up and you’re gonna get back on your knees, okay? I’m gonna help you, come on.” 

Taeyong’s clumsy and limp, sunk too deep to coordinate his limbs, but Johnny arranges him gently, pulls him up with a grunt and then guides him back down onto his knees, carefully tender in a way that aches just the same. The ratty threads of his ripped up jeans dig into his knees dully and Taeyong tries desperately to focus on that because now he can _see._ He can _see_ Johnny standing above him, his plush mouth dropped open, his wide chest moving with breath, can see just how strong the arm that was holding him up is, see the wet spot pressed into the front of Johnny’s pants where his cock is arched-- thick and mouthwatering. 

“Hands on your ankles, no touching- I want just your mouth,” Johnny says, breathy. Taeyong wobbles on his knees as he sits up off his heels so he can grab his ankles. It pushes his chest forward, his head tipped back and up. It’s harder to hold than Taeyong’s used to and he can feel the strain in his thighs immediately. 

“Let’s see if you’re ready, give you a little practice,” Johnny hums, stepping close and running his hands through Taeyong’s dark hair. It has him trembling tense, but when a couple tangles catch between his fingers, Johnny just teases them loose gently before coming back to tap at Taeyong’s chin. “Open your mouth. Open.” 

“Good, there you go,” Johnny coos and shifts closer, tracing his fingertip around to catch the spit gathering at the corners of Taeyong’s lips, then he slides two thick fingers deep inside. 

Taeyong moans, loud enough that it rattles his own skull and he fights to keep his hands on his ankles when all he wants is more, deeper, thicker, harder, _now._

“Careful, teeth,” Johnny says, petting his fingers heavy over Taeyong’s tongue and then flipping them around to do the same against his palette. Taeyong’s brain is syrup slow and hazy, struggling to keep up with each sensation, each push and drag of Johnny’s knuckles against his lips as he rocks his fingers in and out, then hooks them up behind Taeyong’s teeth and uses that to stretch him upward until he’s whimpering against the strain in his chest. 

Johnny’s looking at him and he’s sure, knows it deep down in his guts, that no one has ever looked at him like this before. Like he’s beautiful, amazing, worthy, precisely because of his submission. Taeyong feels his eyes well up with tears and they slip slow down his cheeks. He blinks furiously, wanting to keep holding Johnny’s gaze, wanting to stay in his perfect moment for as long as Johnny wants him there. 

“Taeyong.” Johnny brushes the back of his other hand over Taeyong’s cheeks, brushing them dry. “You are so beautiful like this,” Johnny hauls in a breath, shaking his head and chuckling, then taps at Taeyong’s jaw. “Is this still for me? Your perfect, pretty boy face?” 

Taeyong’s entire body flushes hot and he nods as best he can, his mouth pulling tighter around Johnny’s knuckles, and he’s looking, can’t look _away_ so he sees the way Johnny’s eyes flash dark and commanding again. 

“Thank you.” Johnny traces the backs of his knuckles sweetly over Taeyong’s cheeks again, then his fingertips over his brows and down to trace the slick pucker of Taeyong’s lips around his own fingers. And then-- “If you’re good at this, we can do it for real, so pay attention. No teeth.” 

Taeyong’s a little lost, but he nods, and sucks eagerly, pushes his tongue in a sweet little wave against Johnny’s fingers in demonstration, but Johnny just chuckles, taps his cheek hard enough to get his attention. 

“Sweetheart, brace.” 

Johnny’s hand cracks against his jaw, not as hard as before but enough to sting, enough to have Taeyong’s mouth dropping open, moaning and choking because Johnny’s fucking his fingers in deep, pushing at his throat and then again- _smack._ This time a backhand, across his cheekbone and timed precisely as Johnny pushes in with three fingers now and Taeyong is _gone_.

“Oh, beautiful, there you go, you’re doing so good.” Johnny spins the praise in a web around him until he’s molten, boneless and slack, held up only by his determination to keep his mouth open and good, his teeth carefully tucked behind his lips, for Johnny to use. He’s never felt this good before, never, and it just keeps building, each smack against his jaw, his cheeks, sending a fresh wave of heat straight down to his cock. 

“You think you’re ready?” Johnny asks and his voice is strained tight. 

Taeyong sucks hard at Johnny’s fingers and then sets his teeth carefully, delicately against them so he can slur out, “Yes, please, Johnny please!” 

“Alright, you did a good job, I think you can have it.”

Johnny shuffles in close, his feet planted wide on either side of Taeyong before he draws his fingers out of Taeyong’s mouth and pulls down the waistband of his pants. “Down onto your heels, there,” Johnny directs him and Taeyong follows, sighs in relief. 

Like this, when Johnny’s cock bounces free, it’s so close Taeyong can feel the heat of his skin, whines loudly when it nudges against his chin. He aches to finally have it in his mouth, his tongue poking out to try and catch it. 

“Not yet, only when I say, be patient,” Johnny says even as his spit-slick hand starts to stroke over himself, angling the wet tip down to tease at Taeyong’s lips. 

Taeyong trembles, bites his mouth closed, his eyes watery as he’s teased, and Johny laughs a little cruelly at him. “Cute, you can’t help yourself can you.” 

He shakes his head pitifully and meets Johnny’s eyes, mouths “Please?” against the hot, slick skin of Johnny’s cock and that- that has Johnny’s eyes fluttering closed for a second. His hips twitching forward and his hand tangling hard in Taeyong’s hair so he can drag him close. 

“All the way down, slowly,” he sighs, dragging Taeyong’s raw mouth away from the tip all the way to his balls before drawing him back up and finally notching inside his lips and slowly pushing in. 

Taeyong locks himself still, trembling and keening high in this throat as Johnny slowly works his cock deeper and deeper until Taeyong starts to feel like his head is full of nothing but Johnny, no room for anything else. 

“Fuck... your mouth, baby,” Johnny grunts, his hand trembling where it’s locked in Taeyong’s hair. “You’re so good for me, you can let go, I’ve got you.” 

Taeyong sags like his strings have been cut, his lips numb and tingling as Johnny carefully angles his head so he can draw out, and fuck back in, over and over and over, teasing the thick head of his cock at the back of Taeyong’s throat. It’s overwhelming, even as Taeyong feels blissfully removed. He knows he’s gagging wetly, knows he’s stuttering in breaths and dripping spit down onto his knees but he can’t feel anything except content, proud of the low groans that _his mouth_ is pulling deep from Johnny’s chest. 

“Breathe, take a deep breath baby,” Johnny soothes, pulling out so just the salty tip of his cock is resting on Taeyong’s tongue. Taeyong frowns, pulling suction and wiggling his tongue into the leaky slit, chasing out the taste of him while he pants thinly through his nose. 

Johnny snorts and reaches down, pinching Taeyong’s nose closed, sealing off his supply of oxygen. “You need to breathe,” he coaxes, humor in his voice. 

Taeyong’s head swims abruptly, more to do with the idea of it, of Johnny holding his whole life in his hands, than lack of air, and redoubles his suckling. He fucks himself forward on Johnny’s dick, careful not to make himself gag and break the seal. 

Johnny laughs, his hand petting gently, indulgently, in Taeyong’s hair for a quiet moment. “You’ve really been suffering alone, haven’t you?” 

Taeyong huffs blearily, his head spinning properly now, face flush red and hot, eyes swimming. 

“Well, new rules sweetheart,” Johnny says, suddenly loud, “I decide how much you suffer.” He draws back his hand then lands a hard, stinging blow to Taeyong’s cheek; his whole palm cracks against his sensitive skin. Taeyong wants to scream but there’s no air for it, he just sags into the momentum of the blow, his body rippling with wave after wave of confused pleasure, his mouth popping open in shock but breathless, stunned, suddenly on the edge of orgasm. And Johnny catches him, both hands cupped around his raw cheeks, his thumb soothing at the edge of a welt. Taeyong’s lungs finally spasm open and he hauls in a deep breath around Johnny’s cock, and the rush of adrenaline, of oxygen, of Johnny meanly thrusting right back in after just one breath, tips him over the edge. 

Taeyong wails, pitching forward and shuddering as he comes and Johnny’s cock catches, slips deep into his throat. Taeyong pushes the heel of his hand to his cock and he moans anew at the wet pressure, riding it out, head spinning with the way he can feel Johnny’s cock kicking in his throat too. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Johnny groans high in his throat, his hand tight around the back of Taeyong’s neck and pulling him off. Taeyong goes easily, slumping onto his heels and panting, his neck lax in Johnny’s grip and his mouth dropped wide open to chase each pulse of Johnny’s come. He moans, lilting and happy as Johnny shuffles even closer, feeding the last slow drops right onto Taeyong’s tongue. 

Above him Johnny’s breathing hard and he wobbles, reaching out to brace a hand against Taeyong’s shoulder before he drops down in front of Taeyong, their knees bumping together. Taeyong closes his eyes and swallows, licking his lips to chase a few of the drops that missed his mouth.

“Oh, you’re-- so good baby, fuck,” Johnny pants, brows arched high as he reaches out to help push the last of his come into Taeyong’s mouth with his fingertip. Taeyong giggles, and purses his lips sweetly around his finger, making a show of it. “God, don’t try it, I’ll get hard again,” Johnny groans and tips his forehead to press heavy against Taeyong’s. 

The weight of it sinks into him, grounding as their breath slows together. Johnny’s thumb strokes across his nape and Taeyong finds it’s easy, so incredibly easy, to come back to himself like this, with nothing but Johnny surrounding him. He leans back just a touch when it feels right, and Johnny twitches, pulling back to meet Taeyong’s eyes. 

“How’re you feeling?” 

Taeyong’s eyes rove the four corners of the elevator, everything feeling a little too bright, too detailed and off center, as he takes stock. “Actually, pretty good?” It comes out in a rasp and he coughs, giggles a little at the state of his throat. He reaches out to pet idly at Johnny’s knee, wanting another point of contact back. 

“Well that’s good,” Johnny muses and his voice is even warmer after the exertion, sweetly indulgent and pleased. It sinks into Taeyong’s chest and settles there in a comfortable little ache. “I’m glad you’re feeling good Taeyong.” 

Johnny’s hands seem somehow over-large as he nudges his fingertips against Taeyong’s, carefully slotting their fingers together and squeezing gently. Taeyong’s insides feel hollowed out and replaced with fluttering, joyful, electricity and Johnny smiles at him, a little too wide and gleaming to be anything but honest. 

Taeyong whines and bursts forward, pressing right into Johnny’s space, until he can catch that honest, gorgeous mouth in an open, hard kiss. He wraps his arm around Johnny’s neck and presses his weight forward stubbornly until Johnny tips back onto his butt, a shocked little shout vibrating straight into Taeyong’s mouth. “Baby, baby,” Johnny laughs, bright and delighted. “Easy, here, properly--” 

Johnny’s hand settles gently at his nape again, the other at Taeyong’s hip and carefully brings their lips back together in a slow, thorough kiss. It surges through him like an aftershock, swelling up from his toes and washing him in a slow overwhelming wave of warm pleasure. 

When the elevator rumbles back to life, it’s with little warning. It simply lurches upwards and then carries on, as if it hadn’t stalled out, trapping them for nearly two hours. As if it hadn’t witnessed something entirely earth shattering. Taeyong’s privately thankful it continues up and not down, feeling too raw to be in public outside the strange, safe little web Johnny had woven for him. No, he wants to drag Johnny back to his apartment for a snack, a shower and then sleep. 

He thinks it probably should have been awkward, tangling together on the floor of the elevator still littered with his groceries for the past hour and quietly getting to know each other at the same time as Johnny carefully draws him up from subspace and through what aftercare they can manage. It’d just felt natural, though, blissfully easy and the longer he talked with Johnny the more tightly the little ball of awed excitement coils in his chest. It feels impossible, it feels like what he’s been waiting for his whole life. 

Johnny does carry his groceries, in the end, lifting the bags easily and following as Taeyong leads him down the hallway to his apartment. 

Standing at the door, he’s not sure how to say what he wants to, so he just pushes open the door to his one and only safe haven and lets Johnny inside. He gestures Johnny towards the kitchenette and when he turns to close the door his stomach twists suddenly, violently with nerves. He’s going to turn around and Johnny’s going to be standing in his kitchen, holding his groceries, like this is _real._ The implications of suddenly overwhelming. 

“Sweetheart,” Johnny calls softly, and Taeyong can hear him set the groceries down, backtrack. Johnny tugs at his elbow and Taeyong turns to him, sees his face is openly earnest, brows pulled tight. “I know all this has been kinda crazy, but, please--” Johnny’s voice pinches high and he swallows roughly. “--at least for now, please let me take care of you.” 

“I want that, so much, please.” It’s pushed out of Taeyong’s chest on a whine and he lets Johnny pull him into a hug, settling against his collar and going perfectly limp in Johnny’s arms. 

“You don’t have to do this alone, baby,” Johnny says, chuckling a little ruefully. “I’m right here.” 

Taeyong groans, pushing his face hard into Johnny’s chest. He’s been doing _everything_ alone for so long it feels too good to be true at the same time something anxious and flighty settles in his chest at hearing Johnny say it. “Okay, so prove it.” 

“Prove it?”

“Yeah, prove it,” Taeyong mumbles and wraps his arms tighter around Johnny’s neck and hops, enough that Johnny gets the message and shifts to catch him, hauling him up to wrap his legs around Johnny’s waist. “Make me ramen.” 

Taeyong’s smiling, squished into the corners of his mouth with how he’s trying to hold a pout, and Johnny laughs, throws his head back and bursts with it, delighted. 

“That’s all it takes, huh?” 

“It’s a start.” Taeyong trills, draping himself over Johnny’s shoulder as he starts to walk them towards the nook where his bed is. He lets himself relax, sighing against the warm skin of Johnny’s neck. It’s a really good start.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!!! Hope you enjoyed~ As always you can find me [@kpoophell](http://kpoophell.tumblr.com) for assorted yelling. I also have some fast & messy nct/wayv fic up [@zosma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zosma/works)


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